


Demons Like Us

by LadyBee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Cheating, Cousin Incest, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:44:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBee/pseuds/LadyBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If my father only knew the kind of creatures we've became. Wolves in the very sense of the word. Wild beasts, ferocious creatures, driven by blood lust and anger. He kisses me live a wolf, all teeth and fury; he loves me like a wolf, howling to the moon while scratching my skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s some sort of comfort in the sound of the wind howling outside while I feel the warmth of the fire crackling in the fireplace. It reminds me of how much I should be grateful for it, or at least this is what I’m told daily. Winter is upon us, and so is war, but within this walls there’s food, even though it’s not as bountiful as it once was, and there are other facilities that I’ve missed dearly for almost five years now.

War is another reality and this time no one seems to understand how to deal with it. I see Jon reclined over maps and battle plans, but I doubt that he knows what he’s doing, especially with the Dragons. I wonder how long until he decides that he’s not willing to take orders, now that he set his claim on Winterfell.

He is no longer the boy from my childhood, or even the brother that I loved so much. He became something else. Something darker and dangerous that spoke very eloquently to my own sinful soul. We share vengeance and violence like bread and wine, eating it from each other’s hands. The boy that I knew was kind and honorable, eager to please our father and lord. This man that he became wears his hate, rage and will like an armor. He doesn’t care for refinement or rank. He has no king or queen to serve and got used to be his own lord and master.

I’ve been near dangerous men before. I’ve fought for survival long enough to know that my life depends on him now. Although I love Jon and trust him well enough, he scares me more often than not. It’s not that I can’t kill him if needed be. What scares me the most is that…Even if I had to kill him to save my own life, I would never do so.

Maybe that is the reason why I like the sound of the winter winds and the fire. They are familiar, they never change. I can’t say the same about people.

I heard Ghost’s steps and heavy breath before he could enter the parlor. The beast is of the size of horse now, and whenever he tries to sleep near my feet, it always becomes an unpractical arrangement. I petted his ears before he could accommodate his massive figure in the corner of the room. Jon’s steps didn’t make me wait long, as usual.

He sat on his usual chair near the fireplace, from where I could observe his profile carefully against the light. How it comes that it took me a lifetime to see that his eyes are not really grey, like mine, but from an unusual shade of purple? I suppose that’s what they call denial.

Jon is not particularly adept of fine cloths or other vanities. He is quite simple in his tastes, but every now and then he chose to display his colors and coat of arms. A necessity for anyone with lands to rule; of even to remember his enemies and allies that he is no longer the Black Bastard. His Stark’s looks helps only so much. Most of his claim is sustained by fear and an unlikely alliance, none of them approved by the Dragons.

I often imagine that Daenerys would have tried to contain his growing power and support by marrying him, like Targaryens usually do. Unfortunately for her, Jon doesn’t enjoy the idea of marrying his own aunt, nor is he adept of polygamy. He gave his word in a godswood, before the old gods and new, he would never change his mind about it.

“You are quiet.” His voice broke the silence like a hammer against glass. Not that he is the most eloquent being in this frozen world, but he enjoys noise. He likes to hear all of the small sounds of a full castle, especially now. It reminds him that he is alive.

“I have nothing to say.” I answered while looking into the fire. “I suppose the hunt was a good one.”

“A stag and a wild boar. Much more than I expected.” He was pleased with that and so was I. That meant food supplies and meat was always welcome in winter.

“You’ve killed them yourself?” I asked carelessly. The grin in his face was a cruel one.

“It took me almost a whole day, but yes…Two perfect arrows.” He answered out of sheer satisfaction. “The stag was huge. A male, with twelve points. I should have his head for a trophy.” I shivered before he could set his eyes on me for the first time that night. I knew the meaning behind his words all too well.

“I’ve never took you by someone with such a need for reassurance. I would hate to have such a trophy upon these walls. Let Winterfell be what it is. Our safe and warm refuge.” I said, hoping that he would not get my words wrong.

Once we’ve been as close as twins and completed each other’s sentences. He called me little sister then and I loved him with the sweetness of summer wine. That was before loss, war and winter. Now our souls are stained and corrupted; making love a vile and tricky thing.

“Remind you of your lover, would it?” His voice asked cynically while he observed me with the eyes of a maester.

“Perhaps I should employ a dozen of red head wenches. Would it remind you of the wife that you’ve killed?” My answer hit him like a well-aimed arrow. He smiled at me with bitter kindness. At least he knows me to well to expect me to be a good sweet lady. I’m his mate after all, as cruel and fierce as him.

He rose from his seat and walked the short distance between us. The sound of his boots hitting the cold stone floor echoed in the room. Jon touched my face with his burned fingers, drawing the line of my jaw and neck, making me shiver. His touch is cold like death itself, despite the fact that he is half a Dragon. Jon kissed the top of my head and mussed my hair like he usually does when we are alone and he is feeling more of his old self.

“I’ve never had another wife, only you, my dark one.” He whispered. It was a blunt lie, but I understood the meaning behind it. Truth be told, the wilding had been a duty in order to obtain information and survive among the freefolk. Not that Jon hadn’t enjoyed every single bit of it, but he just like to say that it wasn’t a marriage than, just a folly.

“Stop talking about the past then. It will do you no good.” I replied while trying to not feel uncomfortable with his hand resting at my neck. “I have no lover, although I recall a delicate conversation in the glass garden.”

“You should know me better, my lady.” His fingers tightened a bit, but hardly enough to threaten anyone with strangulation. He was feeling my pulse at most, expecting to sense any alteration that might reveal my unfaithful behavior.

“I wonder why you treat me like this.” I replied calmly.

“Like what, love?” He asked and I almost believed his kindness.

“Like I’m your possession.” My voice faded a bit. I could sense the smile forming in his face even when I couldn’t see him.

“Maybe I’m greedy.” He whispered while caressing my face. “Maybe Death made me this way. Even she rejects me, but now I refuse to be denied by anyone, even you. I gave you back Winterfell. I gave you steel and freedom to fight by my side like you wanted. I shared vengeance with you and I will do much more if you keep this one thing holly. Do not deny me and I’ll be yours to command.”

Jon offered me his hand in a silent invitation. I accepted it without any other option to choose. He made me a similar promise in the godswood almost a year earlier. He was dressed in black that day, exactly as he always is, but his touch had been kinder and his face soft when he took me by the hand and made me his bride.

I see the way everyone looks at him whenever he walks around the land. They whisper his name with fear and devotion, while that Red Woman gravitates around him telling stories of a savior and a conqueror of Death as if Jon was some sort of hero, when the small folk would sooner see him as a monster. “The Great Other” some called him, but most of them choose a much more intimidating alias… “The Deathless”.

We walked thru the dark hallways like phantoms. We know every stone and every corner by heart and nothing of it reminds me of my childhood home. Winterfell is no longer a place for laughs and warmth. We’ve made of this old castle our private fortress of panic and cruelty.

If my father only knew the kind of creatures we’ve became. Wolves in the very sense of the word. Wild beasts, ferocious creatures, driven by blood lust and anger. Jon calls me “my she-wolf” in the black of night, when his hands are eager for flesh and his mouth falls harshly over mine. He kisses me live a wolf, all teeth and fury; he loves me like a wolf, howling to the moon while scratching my skin.

The Jon Snow of my childhood had dreamt of glory and heroism. He thought he might find those things in the Wall, but the only thing he found in that godforsaken place was death. I’ve heard the rumors of his short time as Lord Commander and how he was betrayed by his men. He tried to do the right thing, accordingly to the fat maester. He had been honorable, he saved lives and he tried to protect the realm of men only to lose himself in the process.

I don’t know what Jon might have found on the other side. When we were reunited he had already became The Deathless and everyone whispered that he have lost half of his soul when he came back from the dead.

I guess that we still have that in common after all. No one can hope to serve the One-Of-Many Faces and still keep his soul intact. After so many losses, I started to believe that revenge was the only thing that still had to keep me alive, until I found Jon.

He dressed me in steel and gave me a purpose. Vengeance could be shared after all, and what a sweet thing it was to see the King’s Road covered with the corpses of Boltons and Freys.

I follow his steps just the way I used to do in childhood. Jon made me the way I am, all savagery and cruelty. He gave me my first taste of steel and blood, I’ve learned from him my first lesson in sword fighting. Our scars tell the story of two tormented souls, two outcasts that found each other amidst fire, blood and snow. Our scars have written love letters all over our skin and Jon kiss every word in my body, hoping that they will make him a bit more human.

The sound of the chamber’s door opening makes something inside me grow anxious. There’s some sort of expectation in the air and a bit of excitement. He takes me in, inviting me to his darkest domains.

He closes the door behind me. I can sense his eyes roaming all over my figure, while he circles me. Jon had always been lean and elegant in his own way, with a handsome face that made him easy on the eyes. He evaluates me with the interest of a scholar and that annoys me to no end.

“Will you look at me the whole night?” I asked finally, making him grin in response. Jon touched my face lightly.

“I could, but I will not.” He whispers with unusual kindness. “I was just wondering.”

“About what?” I asked calmly.

“If there’s such a thing as destiny, I wonder if I would enter your tent one way or another. If I would see the scars all over your body and kiss each one of them with devotion. If I would be amazed by how much black hair a woman can have and that you could strangle me with yours if you wished to. If there’s such a thing as destiny, you were made to match each of my preferences, to settle my most unholy desires.” He kissed my neck while his fingers sank in my hair and pulled it lightly. “My she-wolf, my little demon, my perfect bride.”

“Fancy yourself a poet, do you?” I asked before taking his mouth into mine and savor all of his darkness and feed him my own.

“You are some sort of inspiration and fall in love with you is like having my throat cup. Just as fast and lethal. I can’t even blame the poor devil, but history tends to repeat itself, don’t you agree?” Jon made a pause, taking a deep breath to smell the faint essence of lavender in my skin. “He will seek vengeance over something my father did to his father. He will always try to win the lady’s heart and be the fine prince he was meant to be, despite of his low birth. I can even agree that he would do much better than me at this, but…You’ve had always been mine in some deep and mysterious way. You are my mate and mine alone.”

“Greedy vile thing that you’ve become.” I muttered and Jon grabbed my breasts mercilessly at the slightest provocation, making me moan.

“All for you. Just for you.” He spitted every word at my face as if they were some sort of curse. Now I am to blame for this twisted soul of his when I’ve done nothing.

He was the one to enter my tent after a bloody battle without being announced. He was the one covered by the night cloak. Jon was the one to see me half naked, with a body full of pale scars and fresh cuts. He never asked permission to touch me the way he did. He licked my wounds and took me to bed just as fast as he cut any throat.

Maybe he did what he did to have Winterfell with a bit of maiden’s blood instead of a blood bath. It would be the easiest way to force Sansa’s hand at this and it worked just fine. Not my choice, never my choice. Jon imposed the path and the rhythm to me all along, but I’ve found my own pleasure at this. If not in his bed at least by his side in a battle field.

Jon thorne my dress bodice apart with his bare hands, just like he have done countless times before. I suppose it’s some kind of reassurance, his own brutal way to say over and over again that I belong to him.

Do I belong to him? I often wonder if I’ve been tamed by my fear of loneliness and got trapped within his harsh hands. Sansa says that it’s the other way around. She thinks that Jon had always given me an immeasurable amount of power over himself just for the sake of making me happy, but I doubt it. If he wished to make me happy, he would smile at me and call me sweetly as he did when we were young and pure. If he wished to make me happy, he would mess my hair and laugh with me instead of tearing my clothes apart and sink himself between my legs.

I do miss that boy. That lovely and lonely boy that he was. The Jon Snow that I saved in my heart among my favorite memories and dreams. I loved him, but I suppose that love is not unchangeable by any means and as I grew violent, wild and bloody, my love for him grew just the same. Now I taste his blood in my mouth whenever my caresses get to eager and he grins at me with delight. He drags his teeth thru my heart surface and bites it lightly, just remembering me that we belong together for wolves are meant to love wolves alone.

I was naked under his body in no time at all. His breath heavy against the skin of my neck, making me shiver while his touches got bolder and more urgent. I could feel his erection pressed against my stomach, throbbing with need. His mouth hungrily savoring my breasts in a painful delight. Jon has his own peculiarities about intimacy. Despite his twisted self he does it as if he truly believes that it has anything to do with love and not domination. He tries to convince me of these things. Sometimes I struggle to not to.

I’m overwhelmed by his demands and expectations. It’s always there. In the way he kisses me, in the way we fuck, in the way he looks at me when I’m pretending to be asleep. He needs to hear it. He needs to know that I won’t deny him, that I won’t abandon him like his own fortune and death have. If I give him that much, those three words Jon crave so fiercely for, I’ll be doomed for good.

He never expected me to betray him. He never expected me to enjoy that one particular liberty that he gave me. Jon lies to me often, especially about certain matters.

He says that he doesn’t care that I’ve kissed someone else…But he does.

He says that there are no rules between us…But there are.

He says that he’s fine…But he is not.

He says that I could never break his heart…But I did and he will never forgive me for this.

I feel him invading me with a swift movement, reaching deep and carelessly. I scratch his back while I try to accommodate him between my legs. It hurts differently every time, mostly because I look inside his eyes and I want to see my Jon, the one that I left behind the day I went to King’s Landing. And he looks at me, desperate for not being able to be that boy again and having me for his mate.

He loves me and that scares me more than any ghost ever could. I love him, or at least I think that I do, but I don’t know if I love a memory or the man in my arms. I wish to believe that one day there will be spring again, and there will be peace and tranquility. I wish to believe that I’ll live to see this day and that Jon will be warm and gentle again. Maybe then will be able to build ourselves a new life, instead of grabbing each other’s because we are the only thing left from our youthful happiness.

We only want to forget the things we’ve seen and done. We only want to live again, instead of being Deathless.

I barely notice when he spill his seed inside me. I’m taken by my own chaotic pleasure when it happens and I can only notice when Jon starts to soften inside me. My breath is heavy and my body covered with his smell. Jon doesn’t move for a while. He keeps his ear against my chest, listening to my heartbeat.

I caress his hair fondly. I do enjoy these tactile demonstrations of satisfaction when I can still feel his weight on top of me.

“He better be halfway to the Storm Lands right now.” Jon groaned too exhausted to move.

“I refuse to keep discussing this matter with you, Jon. You better let it go.” I replied almost absently. He relieved me of his weight just for a bit. Jon looked at me, with his stunning purple eyes. A shade of fear crossed his face.

“I trust that you know that I’ll kill that bastard if given the chance.” His voice sounded harsh and bitter. “He’ll regret the day he dared to touch what belongs to me.”

“I belong to myself and not to you, Jon.” I replied calmly. “I kissed him because I wanted to. If I had fucked him senseless it would be by my own free will and not because he dared to take me and you wouldn’t have the right to say a thing about it.”

“I would have every right.” He groaned.

“No, you wouldn’t!” My voice sounded resolute. “The day you took me for wife you promised that there would be no rules between us, that I was free to take whomever I wanted to bed and find my pleasure in the way that better suited me, and so I did. Go ahead and do the same if you want. A red head, maybe a dozen of them, all wildlings covered in fur. You are not my possession and I have no intention of becoming yours. We have Winterfell because we are together. You have conditions to sustain your claim on the Iron Throne because I’m by your side. We walk together and freely or we don’t walk at all.”

He pins me against the mattress out of rage. He could kill me for the insolence or even rape me if so he wished, but instead he stares at me. I watch as something inside him crumbles. Jon is afraid. He is always afraid.

“You are mine and I am yours. That’s the promise we’ve made, no more and no less. I won’t share what is mine with the world, let alone a miserable royal bastard from Flee Bottom.”

“I’m not going anywhere, am I? Care to elaborate why do you think I’m still here?” I spited every word out like curses. “I could have gone with him, as you think I would. Instead I’m here, under your naked body, smelling of you and seeing what we’ve made of our lives. We’ve grew up together, we killed together, we lost everything together. No matter where I go, you would never be out of my mind. Fuck you, or let you fuck me seems a natural consequence at this point and I even enjoy it when you are not being paranoid.”

“Then why? Why him?” Jon asked in a heartbroken tone, like an abandoned child to a merciless mother.

“Because once he reminded me of Jon Snow.” My words came out.

“I am Jon Snow.” He replied without understanding the meaning of my confession.

“No. You are Jon Targaryen, The Deathless. You are the Lord of Winterfell and The Black Bastard, you are Rhaegar’s son and the demon of the North.” I whispered. “Jon Snow…My Jon Snow died at the Wall, just like Arya Stark died at King’s Landing. We look the same, just a bit old and worn out, but inside we’ve became two devils digging for a bit of humanity in each other. We stay where we are because truly no one else is able to love the things we’ve became.”

“No one could love a she-wolf like you.” He groaned in frustration.

“And yet you do. You love me for the monster that I’ve become, you love me for the memory of a happy life, and you love me because you dare to have hope.” I threw my head back a bit, too exhausted to keep the argument. “We are a match made in the seven hells.”

“Are you disgusted for what I am, or for what I was? I hear you words and they tell me that what you hate is that I am not your brother and that I’ve settled myself a good deal involving you and the Stark legacy. I robbed you of your inheritance and your maiden blood, and you still have a hard time to not call me brother whenever I’m inside you. Or maybe that you are disgusted for the fact that, in spite of what I am, was, and did, you want me here.” He accused not without good reason to believe every word.

“Maybe I am hopeless about everything. You’ve made a devil bride out of me to mirror you and now I am painfully aware that demons are capable of breeding. What will be of this world with another me and another you?” I look at the canopy for a while, wondering if he will ever understand that I won’t surrender my every will in the name of a thing called love and that I barely recognize. I wish he could understand that he is not the only one afraid.

“What are you talking about?” He asked after a few seconds.

“I’ve wedded a demon and now I’ll give birth to his offspring.” My voice cracked and finally I let myself recognize that I was afraid of that fact. Afraid and lonely.

Jon looked at me with astonished eyes. I couldn’t say if he was pleased with the idea, or even if he understood what I’ve just said. I had a vague knowledge that Jon had hoped that I would get with child in our first time, and that would put an end to any of Sansa’s plans to marry me to someone else. Then I understood that Jon had hoped that I would get with child as soon as possible to reinforce his claim over Winterfell.

More than a year had passed without any signal that a child would ever come. It gave me some peace of mind for a while to know that I would never transmit to any child this vile inheritance that follows the name Stark.

I was scared and furious with the notion. I couldn’t stand the idea of giving birth to a child that would be raised by beings like me and Jon, especially when I knew nothing of motherhood. Maybe Gendry was my last cry of despair and that kiss meant nothing but my futile effort to find a good reference for a child, but the reference I wanted was that of Jon Snow.

I waited for Jon’s reaction, but he was still silent looking all over my naked body. I sighted, giving up any expectation of support, until I felt his warm and rough hand on my stomach. A shiver went thru my spine while he looked at me in the eyes.

“Mine.” His husky voice sounded in my ears. It was not a question, nor even a doubt. I wonder if Jon would accept to raise a child even knowing that he wasn’t the father, but that wasn’t the case.

He kissed me hard and fiercely, devouring me like the wolf I’ve always took him for. Jon never took much time to recover from a lovemaking session, but this time I barely registered the fact that he was ready and buried inside of me before I could recover my breath from that kiss.

It hurt, not in the usual melancholic way. This time it was something like first times and eagerness guiding the shots. That wasn’t Jon, The Deathless. He wasn’t the Black Prince, or the Bastard Dragon. For a brief second I saw in his purple eyes a hint of grey, in his harsh jaw line a bit of tenderness, in his brows a gentle touch with a twist of awe.

For the first time in forever I saw my Jon Snow within his eyes.

I touched his face with devotion and kissed him every bit of tenderness that I had in me. His arms locked around my waist, keeping me in place to allow him to move freely. Our legs tangled while his hands grabbed my tights. It was a messy and confusing affair, but I couldn’t care less. I could, for the first time, feel him pulsing with life inside me. Every stab made me shiver and gasp for air and I couldn’t get enough of him.

“Mine.” He said again, making me close my eyes to feel the pleasure in every one of my bones.

“Mine.” He repeated like a pray. “Mine.” My toes started to curl while he kept moving inside me, dragging me to pleasure, leaving me boneless.

I came in a convulsing fit that made everything around me went blissfully white. Jon kept moving, prolonging my pleasure for what seemed to be an eternity, until he obtained his own relieve.

We remained in silence for a while, just looking at each other, recovering our breaths. Jon’s hands roamed all over my body, caressing me in a way that he had never done before. Something in him became soft, and warm and kind. It was like going back home.

He looked directly at my face, traced my lines with the tip of his fingers. Although he wasn’t smiling, or talking, or doing much of anything, I could feel that he was…Happy.

“I’m your husband.” He said calmly. “I don’t think that I’ve ever chosen you. There was no choice for me, only you and your wild like self. I took you for my wife because you were the only woman who could ever deal with whatever I am. It’s your talent.”

“Why are you saying these things?” I asked calmly.

“Because you are under constant impression that I could have picked any woman, anywhere, but chose to take away your freedom and will out of sheer selfishness. You accuse me of being cruel, a monster even, but you are no less than me. When it comes to you, there was never a choice for me. There was only you and it is a cruel fate to love someone you grew up knowing to be forbidden. Yes, I’ve stolen you. I took everything from you and I’ll never stop because you did just the same to me.” He took a deep breath. “You kissed a man that was not me and it made me furious, then desperate because I thought I might lose the only thing that is perfect in my life.”

“Give up poetry. You lack the talent for it.” I said at some point, obviously uncomfortable with the unexpected sincerity.

“I understand, Arya.” He answered objectively. “I can understand why you run away from me, why you avoid me whenever you can and even that I might scare you more often than not. That does not change the fact that I am your husband and I’ll be a father to this child. You are both mine to keep, protect and care for. If it’s a little devil what you are carrying, this child will be no less wanted and loved even if it’s not my child.”

“It is your child. I’ve never bedded him, or anyone else for that matter.” I replied absently. “I might have been unfaithful for a second, but I would never seek my death in such a stupid way.”

“Do you think that I would kill you?” He asked out of shock.

“You could and I would understand if you did so, but I don’t think that you would. We are just the same. We have no one else and nowhere else to go. If you killed me, you would condemn yourself to loneliness, and I know that this is what you fear the most.”

“What I fear the most…You know nothing, Arya.” He said sourly.

“What do you fear then?” I closed my eyes and waited for his voice.

“You.” He said taking me by surprise. “There’s nothing scarier than to love and give yourself to someone as free spirited as you. I could lock you up in a tower and you would escape it in the first chance. I could take everything away from you. Your money, your land, your power, even your name, but you’ve already survived without any of these things. I’ve trapped you, I’ve seduced you, I’ve bargained with your life only to tie you up to me. And yet…I live in fear that one day I’ll forget to lock the door and you’ll fly away. I live in fear that one cannot love enough for two. If you were any other lady, you would stay because it would be the right thing to do. You are Arya Stark and you’ve never been a lady. You’ll do what pleases you and what will be of me the day you decide that I don’t please you?”

“You are afraid of the most extraordinary things.” I whispered. “Truly…You want me to confess. You want to hear from my mouth the words you profess with such devotion, but if I give you this…Oh Jon. I’ll be lost forever. You’ll consume the last breath of Arya Stark. I gave you my hand, my sword, my loyalty and you took everything and more. I’ve never wanted to be a wife or a mother, now I’ll be both and I don’t dislike it as I thought I would. I am by your side and don’t fool yourself thinking that I would stay if I didn’t want to. I want to stay here. I want to share your bed and your vengeance. I want to torment you until your last breath and my last white hair. I’ll do all this things, my Deathless lover, but you’ll never hear those three words from my mouth. You’ve hidden your death, let me hide my love from your eyes.”

“I can afford waiting a bit longer.” He said lightly, with his mouth curving in a discreet smile. “It will be enough see you round and heavy with my child groin inside you, at least for now; but don’t fool yourself, lover. One day it won’t be enough and I will grow anxious and violent again, just to remember you that I’m no longer that dutiful boy.”

“Marriage has its own ruthless and savage rules, I suppose. Ours will always be some kind of war for domination.” I grinned at him.

“Maybe next time it will be your turn to conquer me. Maybe I’ll be the one to seek love in someone else’s arms.” He dared me and a groan escaped my throat.

“I’ll make a fine sport of killing every single red head from King’s Landing to the Wall.” I hissed.

“Jealous, are you?” His voice sounded deliciously presumptuous.

“No, but you are mine to torment and you’ve made me greedy.”

I know all too well that Jon will never be satisfied with anything by half. If anything, we will consume each other with demands and jalousie, killing anyone that might interfere in this dark arrangement we call marriage. We will populate this world with demons like us and teach them nothing about kindness. We are Starks after all, as our children will be after us. And every Stark child knows that winter always come, and when it happen it’s our time to rule.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace, lightening the dark gloomy room gives me the feeble sensation of peace. I have so little of it these days and to have it, if only for a second while I admire her silhouette against the light is something like a soothing balm even though I’m never sure if Arya is for me a source of peace, or my doom made flesh.

Her belly grows by the hour. She no longer can walk freely around the castle without suffering a great deal of discomfort. I wonder if things would have been different if I’ve gotten her with child sooner. Perhaps she would be happier, or maybe just too concerned about the child to ever consider the idea of betraying me.

She’s playing with her new dagger. The one I gave her as a gift for her name day and the imminent arrival of our first born. The silvery blade with light blue veins reflects the fire and her eyes beautifully. Valyrian steel, crafted by the finest blacksmith in the Free Cities. Beautiful and deadly just like my petite wife.

I wonder what kind of joke the gods were playing on me when it first happened. The first taste of the forbidden fruit, the beginning of my addiction, the thing I dare to call love but has nothing of the gentleness of such a feeling. I would devour Arya if I could, just to get intoxicated by her poisonous self and hope that this one last taste would be enough for me to have my heart pacified.

I look at her and see nothing of the vicious warrior that had broken the Twins and made a pyre of the old castle, just because she could. I can only see the main goddess of my pantheon. Lady Death in all of her splendor, the one that denied me. She never knew limits to her will and I’ve never really wanted her to have limits because, truth be told, there’s nothing as alluring as her satisfied and cruel smile. With Arya I am an indulgent fool. Soft at heart and mind for a woman that loves me not.

I rarely get the chance to have a glimpse of the girl I once called sister. She is somewhere inside those grey eyes, though. Innocent, pure and wild as she had always been. I had loved that girl dearly, as a good brother should, but that was before the winter, the war and my own death change me for good.

I’m no longer that boy called Jon Snow that went to the Wall with the dream of becoming a hero. I’m not the boy that abandoned her, and his family to pursue a dream. He died long ago in a frozen land, stabbed by several of his black brothers to allow me to be born from smoke and salt. This filthy and vile creature that I’ve became. Vengeful, ruthless and cruel like winter, but just like I have never ceased to look for Arya Stark within my wife’s eyes, she never stopped to hope that one day I will be Jon Snow again.

We are tired and homesick. The longing we feel has nothing to do with Jon Snow and Arya Stark, but with the home that we once had. We belong to nowhere, but we belong together. At least that was a conclusion that I found and it suits me well.

I could not tolerate the idea of her ever going away again and that was a fear that took me all of a sudden as soon as we were reunited at the Wall. Lady Sansa wished to marry her off to some petty lord, and even nurtured the idea of seeing Arya wedded to Aegon, but that could not be.

I cannot recall the very moment when I stopped to see Arya as the young girl of my youth. What I can remember is the way she started to infect my system, how her eyes never failed to make me feel like a boy of six-and-ten again. The sight of her practicing with a training sword, her gracious movements, the sway of her hips…One day those things had been simply pleasant, until they became the material of my darkest fantasies and I found myself craving for the taste of her.

I suspect that she never wanted me in the same way. Arya tolerates my presence and my weight on top of her whenever my need for her becomes too much to bear, but that is not something that she appreciates. It is frustrating, mostly because she expects me to be that boy again. Jon Snow…The bastard brother that she used to adore.

I tricked her into a trap and both of us got catch in the end. That is the painful truth of it. She will never forgive me for taking away her say in the matter.

I can still remember the day I entered her tent after a battle just to make sure that she was safe and well. The way her half naked body bared the same silvery marks of my own. She matched me, scar by scar. She enjoyed the killing as much as I did and maybe more. She never feared me even when everyone else did.

Maybe it was the wolf in me recognizing his mate. A fierce and fearsome female that would never submit easily.

I can still feel her smooth skin against my calloused hands. The first sensation that a first touch can provoke. The fire burning in my veins when she looked at me through her looking glass and the sound of the vanity object falling to the ground and crashing in a million pieces.

I kissed her neck firsts, fighting the urge to bury my teeth in her flesh. Her body pressed against mine, her heavy breath and tense muscles. I cannot say if it was fear or arousal what she felt. Perhaps both.

She could have fought me. I’m not sure if it would do her any good, but she could have anyway. Instead she remained quiet and motionless while I kissed her bare skin. Arya closed her eyes when I touched her breasts, took a deep breath when my fingers sank in the dark curls that covered her sex.

Before I could even realize what I was doing, I was already inside her, hearing her unsteady breath close to my ear and feeling her body answering to mine. There was no tenderness about that day and we rarely talk about it to each other. She was nothing like my previous relationship, mostly because she lacked the experience about what happens between man and woman. Her kisses were furious ones, her hands savage, the sounds she made…obscene. She clawed my skin and bitted me countless times between a moan and another. She complained when I took her for good and I still can remember how her body protested at the sudden intrusion.

When I finally came back to sense I could see the blood between her tights mixed with my own seed. That should have disgusted me. I should have felt something like shame and nausea, but that never happened. It only made me want her even more and before the break of dawn there would be no doubt that she had been claimed.

Sansa could still try to find her sister a husband since Arya was still a Stark, but no great lord would ever accept a bride as wild, cruel and soiled as she was after that day. I offered a generous dowry for her hand and Sansa had no other option than to sell me her sister in hope that by such a union Winterfell would remain being ruled by Stark blood.

Arya had nearly to be dragged to the godswood in the day of our wedding. Sansa placed several guards in the area to avoid any attempt of escape that Arya might have made. In the end we were wedded and I rejoice at the idea that no one could ever take Arya away from me.

That night I’ve made her an offer, in order to buy her obedience and surrender. I regret every word though. Mostly because I never believed that one day she would actually do what I’ve suggested. I trusted her as if Arya was still an innocent child and believed that a woman’s heart was ever dutiful and loving. Not my wife’s, though. She is much like me to ever consider stopping when she is hurting others.

What kind of man says to his wife on their wedding night that she is allowed to seek pleasure elsewhere as long as she never runs away? A desperate one. A foolish one. One that believed it possible to make his wife fall for him as hopelessly as he had felt for her.

I saw her butchering her enemies, the sheer joy in her eyes at the sight of blood. I raised my glass with her in order to celebrate the fall of Bolton and the Freys, while their bodies rotten at Winterfell’s gates. If the world called me Deathless out of fear, it also called her the Dark Lady, the She-Wolf.

That is her. That is the woman I love and hoped to tame, but Arya is a force of nature. She is like water.

I can have a goblet of her, a vase, but it will never be enough until I’ve drowned in her. But what I fear is the day that I’ll try to hold her in my hands and she will slip through my fingers. I feel that this is what is happening now and I can’t help to think that I should have killed that man for daring to touch what was mine.

At this though, I can’t help to look at her belly and wonder if she was telling me the truth.

She notices that I’m staring at her and look at me with inquisitive eyes. I give her a grin because there’s nothing else that I can do. I hope the child she is bearing is mine. If not, I hope it’s a girl and I will be less inclined to hate that child for being the proof of Arya’s infidelity to me.

I thought about killing her along with that man when I saw them kissing in the godswood. I wanted to do so since the moment he entered my lands and made her smile in a way she hadn’t done in centuries. I knew where that could lead them. I feared that day more than any nightmare. While I saw her flirtatious looks at him I prayed for her to remember her vows, remember that I was the one to bring her home and let her be as savage and cruel as she wanted; that I would never deny her anything she asked as long as she stayed by my side.

She broke her promise and I held my hands over the ears of my heart so I would not hate her for doing so.

I see her rising from her favorite seat and walking toward me with her blade in hand. She points it at me and although I know how skilled she is with her weapons I don’t even blink at her pointless threat. I just watch and breathe. I just wait for her indignation to come. She knows me well enough to read my mind almost effortlessly.

“I do enjoy the sight of you with a murderous gleam in your eyes.” I provoke her and soon enough I feel the blade presses against my throat. “Have I displeased you, love?”

“I know this look and I know the kind of thoughts you have whenever you look at me like this.” She hisses at me. “It has been months and until now I’ve been locked up inside this castle. I haven’t seen or talked to any man other than you since that day and all of it by my own free will. What else do you want to finally believe that nothing has happened?”

“You should calm down. All this commotion is not good for the child.” I finally say. Truth be told, I do not want to discuss with her. “I was simply wondering if it will be a boy or a girl.”

“Does it make any difference as long as it is yours?” Arya insisted. She was tired and anxious. Anyone could see that. Her face was flushed and her belly too low. It could be anytime now.

“Not really.” That much was true. I wouldn’t matter the gender if the child was indeed mine.

“This is your entire fault and you know it.” She said, finally lowering the blade. “You know what you said and you know what you did. Stop looking at me as if I had done anything other than play by your rules. It’s not my fault that you are a liar.”

“Of that much I’m guilty. Is that what you would like to hear?” I finally replied, making her put her dagger aside and stare at me with anger. “I’m also guilty of the crime of making you my wife and that is the one you will never forgive.”

“Stupid.” She cursed in a low tone, turning her back at me again. I cannot help a smile. The way she said it and her stubborn attitude reminded me of those days when everything was simple. “If that was the case this blade would be buried in your chest by now. You probably would not die, but at least I would have proven my point. I’m still by your side, though. Heavy and hideous because of your child.” She threw her head back slightly and took a deep breath as if she was in pain. I got on my feet immediately.

“Are you feeling well?” I asked and she shook her head stubbornly. She raised her arms as if trying to keep me distant, but I ignore it. “Arya, what is it?”

“I’m fine.” She lied. Her face was pale and her forehead was sweating. A small cry of pain escaped her lips before she could reach for the edge of the table for support.

I run to her side, because there was nothing else that I could do. I held her hand, feeling her cold skin against mine. She opened her eyes and looked at me. She was in pain and she was in panic. I kissed her forehead and held her against my body while stroking her hair. I was afraid too.

“I’ll take you to bed and send for the maester.” I said. I tried to sound as calm as I could and smile at her. “I believe it’s time.”

I carried Arya in my arms to our bed and woke up the entire castle while on my way to our chambers. She enlaced my neck with her arms and tightened her grip to my cloths whenever the pain was too much for her to take.

I have seen women giving birth before and I could not shake away the image of Dalla and my own mother dying at childbirth. I looked at her one last time before the midwives and the maester shut the door at my face. Young, fierce, frightened and frail.

I haven’t prayed in a long time. I do not know for whom I should pray for. I called for the Mother, even though I’ve never worshiped the Seven. I called for the old gods, the Lord of Light and even The Faceless God to let her live one more day. In the end I called for my own mother and Lady Catlyn to look after my wife and protect her during those long hours of endless screams and pain.

I do not know how long I stayed outside the bedroom, listening to her screams, until I finally decided that I had had enough of it. I commanded them to let me in until the midwives finally allowed me to do so.

Arya looked at me with relief. She held my hand tightly while she pushed the child down. Her face was covered in sweat and her hair was a mess. I could not care less about her looks when I was so afraid of losing her in a blood bed.

A cry cut the night. That was how I realized that the child was finally born. Arya passed out in my arms. She was pale and covered in sweat and blood, her pulse was feeble making me believe that I would lose her for good. The maester nearly dragged me out of the room in order to help Arya.

I was kept outside the room with nothing but my fears for hours, until a midwife came with a bundle in her arms.

She was a tiny pink thing and could easily feat in my calloused hands. I did not know what to do with that tiny human being in my arms. I looked at her as if waiting for her to give me the answer, but she only looked back at me lazily.

The maester came out of the room and told me that Arya would survive, but was still weak and needed to rest. I did not know for how long she would be incapable of tending to the child so I called for a wet nurse to take care of the little girl and gave her a name while her mother could not.

I have never considered names before. I had this vague notion that if we had a boy he would be called Eddard, or Brandon, but never really considered names for girls. I could call her Lyanna, after the mother that I never knew; or Catlyn, after the woman that never wanted me; but that was my daughter and I wished for her to have a full life, a happy one. Just like Arya had been named after our great-grandmother, I chose to name our daughter Lyarra.

At this point I had no doubts that Lyarra was mine and I would kill anyone who dared to say otherwise. Although she was all northerner about her colors, with her grey eyes and thin dark hair, a string of silvery blond hair close to her forehead reminded me of my Targaryen blood.

While Arya was recovering her strength, I had the cradle brought to our chambers and spent my nights guarding my daughter’s sleep. Sometimes she wouldn’t stop crying and only managed to go back to sleep whenever I laid her on my chest. She likes the sound of my heart beat and it gives me a sort of peace that I’m not used to.

It was just like that how Arya found me, almost a month after the birth. She had left her private chambers, against the maesters orders, just to make sure that I was treating Lyarra right. She smiled at the scene, while I was having a hard time to keep my eyes open. I thought for a second that I was dreaming, but there she was. The same girl that smiled at me when I gave her a tiny sword almost a lifetime ago…She was smiling at me again.

“Never took you for a nurse.” She said while coming to rest by my side in bed.

“Sometimes she can’t sleep at night. I guess she finds my chest warmer than the cradle.” I whispered.

“Smart girl.” Arya said looking at Lyarra with a tenderness that I was not used to see in her. “I liked the name you gave her. I was afraid that you would name her after your mother and I’m seriously done with Lyanna’s ghost haunting this place. This girl deserves better.”

“So I thought.” I took a moment to look at her properly. My beautiful and wild wife, with her hair so dark and her eyes so fierce. I wonder if I ever had the slightest chance of not falling in love with her. “You should be resting.”

“To the seven hells with it. I can’t stand another day in that bedroom and the face of that maester looking at me as if I was an invalid. He only allows me to see her three times a day and I can’t even feed her myself. I’m her mother and the Lady of Winterfell, I won’t have that old man telling me that I cannot hold my child if I want to, nor you for that matter.”

“Who am I to ever deny you anything? Do what you want as long as you don’t exceed yourself and put your health in danger. I don’t see why you shouldn’t hold her or feed her if you want to. I had the wet nurse brought here to help you if needed.”

“Look at you. The fearsome Black Prince Jon, the Northern Bastard, The Black Dragon, The White Wolf of Winterfell, The Deathless…Who could ever imagine to see you like this?” She teased me.

“Like what?” I raised a brow in question, making her laugh lightly.

“Like a loving man again. It’s almost like…” She stopped all of a sudden.

“Like what?” I insisted.

“It’s almost like the old days, when we were happy.” She said.

I kissed her forehead for that. Suddenly there was no thoughts about her betrayal, or our shared blood lust and past crimes against the world and each other. There was just the three of us resting on a featherbed in the dead of night.

“I am happy.” I whispered close to her ear. “And I wish you to be happy too.”

“Are demons allowed to have such a thing as happiness?” She asked while caressing my face with her calloused hands.

“Since when we care about being allowed to do anything? We can always seize happiness. We can always be greedy about it, conquer it like Aegon had.” I looked down just to face Lyarra, still sleeping on top of me. “As long as you stay with me, I’ll do anything to give you happiness on a silver platter.”

“You gave me a home and you’ve never reject me for being what I am, and although I’m not exactly expressive about my appreciation about it, I do love you for being the place to where I could come back to no matter what. Maybe I just had to understand that there’s no use for trying to revive the past since it’s dead as we should be. Now future seems brighter, even for demons like us.”

She kissed my lips and mussed my hair. I heard her light laugh and felt her imperative touch. Arya was right. There was no use for us to live holding to the past, hoping that one day we would magically turn back into those sweet and innocent children, but we could move one and we could try to rebuild a home on top of the ashes of our shared past and cruelty. For the first time in forever, I believed that I could make her happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’ve wrote this chapter several times during the past few months but it never seemed to sound right for me. It still doesn’t sounds exactly how I intended it to, but I had a hard time trying to make it dark without ruining my two favorite characters for good, especially Jon. I don’t this was a particularly good one, but I felt the story was left open. My apologies if this one doesn’t correspond to expectations. I hope you like it.  
> Bee

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I know that this is kind of PWP, but I hope you enjoy. This piece was heavily inspired by the French movie La Belle et la Bête, and a book called Deathless by Catherine M. Valente. Reviews are highly appreciated.  
> Kisses  
> Bee


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